Life On Finch's Landing
by Tesla-nator3
Summary: What if there was a different reason Atticus took a liking to Tom Robinson that day? Could they have met before, when Atticus was young? Atticus's life growing up on the farm. Rated K for racism talk. I promise I'll come up with a better title eventually.
1. Chapter 1

June 23, 1891 Finch's Landing Summer "But soon," he cried, with sad and solemn enthusiasm, "I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly, and exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit will sleep in peace; or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. Farewell." He sprung from the cabin-window, as he said this, upon the ice-raft which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance. The End Atticus sighed. He'd only started Frankenstein two weeks and a half ago, and he was really looking forward to an exciting ending. One where the main character didn't die at the end. He hated when authors did that. It gives the reader no connection with the dead character anymore. To Atticus, it was like loosing a friend. He tossed the book to the side of his bed. Maybe Jack would want to read it when he got older. Maybe even baby Alexandra. Maybe Atticus looked at the small alarm clock on his brown bookshelf adjacent to his bed. It read 3:37 PM. He had a few minutes before he needed to get back to work. Maybe even if he put extra working hours in, his father would give him some money to buy a new book. Atticus had requested that Dominic buy him new books a lot when he was younger. Sometimes, he said no. Other times, he just waved him off, as if he were an annoying housefly that never went away, no matter how long you kept the window open. Eventually, Atticus gave up. When he ran out of his own books to read, he read some of Jack's old children's books or sometimes even his mother's books, which he dreaded with a passion. How his mother could put up with Romeo and Juliet or Sense and Sensibility, Atticus had no idea. He guessed that women liked what happened in the real world, rather than fictional adventures like Robinson Crusoe or The Three Musketeers. But, someone had to read Jane Austen. Atticus was just glad it wasn't him or his gender that had to read it. He hopped off his bed and trudged across the main hall, illuminated only by a small brass oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. Even with the lamp, the dark oakwood made it hard to relly see anything. Atticus wondered if he could ever decorate the hall, with paintings or statues or tapestries. He laughed at himself. Maybe one day, if he would ever be rich. Not today, Atticus thought to himself. Finch's Landing lived behind The Finch's one story house, so ti would be easier to get to the dirt road, and that so no one had to see the family laboring. About half an acre of farmland south of his house, a windowless barn stood next to a small steel silo. The finch's didn't keep many animals, mostly chickens and cows and pigs and sometimes even sheep. They had one horse, a black Cleveland Bay named Samson. Samson was both the workhorse and the Finchs' only form of transportation. Sometimes, he would get confused between the two. Once, they were going to a wedding of a family friend, and Samson started walking onto the grass, as if he had a plow on his back rather than a carriage. Atticus approached the back door. through the window, he saw his father, Dominic, beating at the soil with a hoe. Jack was trying to move with the same swiftness as his father. Atticus opened the door. "Sir?" Dominic straightened up. "What, Atticus?" he asked, swinging his hoe down in the soil so that it barely hit his foot. "Yeah. What, Atticus?" Jack copied. He swung down his hoe, except it hit his big toe with a loud painful thud. Jack tried to stifle a scream. "I was wonderin' if I could go to the bookstore on Sunday. I need somethin' else to read." Atticus tried to sound confident, but his voice cracked with cowardice. Dominic sighed and turned to Jack. "Jack, keep workin'. I need to have a talk with your brother." Jack gave his father a painful look that said, You're joking, right?, but Dominic was already walking toward his older son's direction, and the next thing Atticus knew, his father was standing over him like one of those skyscrapers in New York City. Dominic's thin brown hair was glued to the top of his head with sweat. His hands were almost as big and course as his feet; farmers' hands. His jeans overalls were fading in their color and caked in mud. His breath reeked of smoke and the smallest faint of whisky. He crouched down to Atticus's height. "You have been sitting in your room all day reading. And now you want to go buy a book so you can sit down on your ass some more?" His voice seemed to get an octave lower, and his eyes a deeper shade of brown. Atticus knew that ,eant trouble. He braced himself and didn't say anything. "Is this how you wanna live yer life? Sittin' on your bum all day readin' Shakespeare shit? Reading is gonna get you nowhere. It's the physical work that people want. Do you think people will pay you to read for them?" "No, sir." "Exactly. Now, look there at yer brother. He's healthier and more muscular than you. Why? Because he actually gets out and works. He knows he has to get his hands dirty, like a true farmer. Now, go grab the hoe, and start where I left off. I'm goin inside." "Can I at least change into jeans?" "No. I know what you'll do, you'll go back in that damn room of yours and start reading again. Finch's Landing is our life, Atticus. I suggest you start getting somethin' out of her." And with that, Dominic went inside and shut the door behind him with a loud thud. Atticus wanted to cry. Why did Dominic care so much about the farm now? Atticus had been reading instead of doing farm work for as long as he could remember. All he asked was to buy a book. What had ticked Dominic off? It seemed that Atticus had been standing for quite a while, because Jack was starting to get annoyed. "You comin er what?" he shouted Atticus forced himself to calm down. He turned around and walked towards his brother, who was already whacking at the soil. Atticus picked up his father's hoe and started doing the same. Atticus lost track of time. The sun was beating on his back almost like its rays were a whip. After what seemed like an hour, Atticus swung down the hoe and leaned on it like it was a cane. He was winded "How long s'it been?" He asked Jack. Jack took his pocket watch out of his jeans pocket. Even when he was working, Jack always carried a watch with him. "Bout five minutes. Hey, where you goin?" "Inside," "Atticus, we have work to do!" "I don't care. I'm sweating and I'm tired I think it's because of my jacket." "What is?" Atticus straightened up. This was a moment to actually teach his brother something. It needed to be cherished. "Well, you see, the sun throws all sorts of light and heat rays at us. And black is a good absorber of the rays, so black surfaces get hotter. And since my jacket is black-" "That is the single stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life. Black coats don't 'ave a mind of their own, they just there b'cause they there." Jack interrupted. "And why you talkin like that? We ain't in England, you ain't meetin with the queen." Atticus sighed and continued hoeing. No one liked what he had to say. Not his family, not his classmates and sometimes, not even his teacher. Was saying something so bad? He tried to teach Jack something, and he just brushed him aside. Atticus made a vow. If he ever had kids, he would listen to them, no matter what. Not even if it was the stupidest statement in the whole wide world. Author's Note: First of all, I do not own To Kill a Mockingbird or Frankenstein, or any other book that shows up in this fic. If I could write as well as Harper Lee or Mary Shelly, I would be writing a lot more fics. Second of all, thanks so much for reading. I know I shouldn't be staring another fic when I should be finishing my others, but whatever. Please R&R, and thanks so much. Have a good day! Tesla-nator3 


	2. Chapter 2

p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:  
0px; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size:  
13px;"Atticus worked until late afternoon. He was so focused, he almost didn't hear Dominic calling him and Jack inside.  
Despite his aching legs, he ran across the hall to the first door on his left, entered, and closed the door. In the bathroom mirror, he studied himself, trying not to believe that the person staring back at him was Atticus. His jacket was slightly damp and caked with dirt in some areas. His hair, which usually had a mind of its own, was matted down to his forehead, like Dominic's. His face was also covered in dirt and sweat. How did the dirt get onto his face in the first place?/p 


	3. Chapter 3

"Atticus?" Andrea called from outside the youth's door.

He didn't stir one bit. He had no idea when his exhaustion overpowered his need to read Les Misérables. It may have even been 5 minutes ago.

"Atticus, wake up!" You have work to do today, like you promised your father."

He grunted and pushed himself up from the bed. He started changing into his undercoat when he remembered how dirty he got the day before. Groggily, he changed out of it and pulled on a plaid shirt and a pair of overalls. Not even caring to brush his teeth or eat, he trudged across the hall, through the kitchen and out to the farm. Surely enough, Dominic was showing his younger son how to plant spinach in the rows they hoed yesterday. "See, Jack, most farmers don't care about the place where you throw the seeds, but it's actually really important. If you just throw clumps of 'em wherever ya want, then you'll have a bunch if spinach trying to grow in the same place, which wastes seeds. If you spread 'em out too much- Atticus. So nice of ya to finally join us."

It was only then when Atticus's brain became alert and the world around him seemed real. Now it hit him. He promised his father he would do farm work. Atticus cursed himself. Why did Les Misérables have to be such a damn good book?

Timidly, Atticus walked nearer to the rows. He was prepared for his fate.

"Morning, sir."

"Afternoon, Atticus."

Atticus's heart was beating in his chest like a bird trying to get free from its cage. Atticus wasn't expecting to make an apology. He knew Dominic wouldn't want to hear it. But nevertheless, he couldn't stop himself.

"Sir, I'm so so sorry. I overslept, you see, an'-"

"Atticus, I don't blame ya."

Atticus could feel his eyebrows reach his hairline. "Pardon me, sir?"

"I said I don't blame ya. Jack here also slept until noon." Jack looked down, but an embarrassed smile made its way out.

"Farm work's exhaustin', especially fer kids. I understand. I was just like ya when I was yer age, sleepin' in durin the summer. Oh, how yer grandpa Morris would yell at me when I slept in..."

The bird in the cage finally calmed down. Atticus wanted to hug his father, refrained, and nodded.

"Thank you, sir."

"No problem. I'm just glad you want to work now. Your mother told me about your promise to do more farm work. You have determination."

Atticus smiled, but the relief and joy he felt inside was nothing compared to it. He finally made his father proud. All these years of trying to win his affection, and all he had to do was work on the farm. No, not his farm. His life. All Dominic was asking was for Atticus to share with him his life. Sure, reading was fun, but sometimes it did get a little lonely. Even with the characters living in the pages, they would never be Jack or Andrea or Dominic or even whiny Alexandra. It was nice to be with the people who were.

Atticus tried not to read late into the night again. He got up early every day (which was actually 9am for him) and went out with his father to work. Jack always came much later, and had a look of jealousy when he saw Atticus working with Dominic. They worked all week until Sunday. Finally, the sweet, sweet smell of Sunday. Sunday was the day when, unless necessary, you didn't have to constantly work on the crops; it was the day to tend the animals. Of course, they needed to be given food and water every day, but if there was a runt ready to be sold, the day was Sunday. If Samson needed to plow something, the day to do it was Sunday. If there were eggs that needed to be collected and sold, the day was Sunday. And if the kids had been working hard all week, their day off was Sunday.

Just before Atticus finished the first volume, Fantine, his oil lamp went out. He had no idea where the oil was, and there was no use going around the house looking for it; he didn't even know how to refill an oil lamp. Anyway, his mother was out with Alexandra and Jack to go visit some friends. His father left 10 minutes later to a place unknown to Atticus. He said that it was time Atticus learned to be left alone at home. If anything happened, he would run to the nearest person's house. Dominic made sure it was all sewn into his son's brain before he left.

Atticus didn't know what to do without a reading light. Then, he remembered the big window in his parents' room. Surely, that would give enough light to read. And knew from experience that one hanging oil lamp would not be suitable enough to read. Careful not to lose his place in the book, he hopped off of his bed and walked to the room adjacent to the kitchen.

It had been forever since Atticus had been in his parents' room. It was bigger than every other room in the house, except maybe the kitchen. The epicenter of the bedroom was a queen sized with dark blue sheets and off- white pillows. There was one oakwood writing desk from Andrea's childhood which was not used often enough. On the right side He had only been in there when he got nightmares and needed the comfort of knowing someone was with him, and when he and Jack would jump on their bed when they were out, assuring the nanny that they allowed them to do it. The memories were all coming back to him in one instant. He breathed, and pulled the chair from the writing desk up next to the window.

Atticus got pretty far into the book when he noticed a dark shadow in the window, almost looming over him. He looked out. A boy was standing there, around Atticus's age, maybe older. He had big dark, wide eyes, almost like an infant's. He wore a black suit that was almost as dark as his skin.

Atticus jumped. As soon as he did, the boy started to run away. Frantically, Atticus pried the window open.

"Wait!" He called to the boy. He stopped, and slowly turned around. Atticus motioned him to come closer to the window.

"Is there something I can help ya with, sir?" He asked politely.

The boy didn't answer. He looked shocked, almost frightened. His eyes got bigger, if that was even possible.

"Is everythin' all right, sir? Can I get'cha a glass of water to drink?" Atticus scolded himself. Remember, when you are around guests, you separate your words. Despite all the literature he was reading, he still had to keep that in mind.

The boy shook his head. Then, in a voice barely audible, he said, "What's Les Miserables?"

Atticus smiled. "You don't pronounce the "s"es. It means "The Miserable Ones" in French."

The boy's eyes widened even more. "You're French?"

"Oh, No. It's just the title. The book's translated into English. It's very good. I recommend you read it sometime."

The boy nodded, but had a certain sadness in his eyes when Atticus said that.

"I hope ya don't mind me askin'," he said, "but shouldn't ya be in Church?"

The Finch family was the least likely people to ever attend church regularly. Sure, they went on Christmas and Easter and sometimes All Saints' day, but Dominic established a long time ago that going to church every Sunday was unnecessary. "God rests on Sundays, farmers don't," Atticus remembered him saying. But he learned that if anyone ever asked why he didn't go to church on a regular basis, he would just say that he would go next week; he and his family had lots of farm work to do.

"I have a lot of farm work to do."

"Doesn't look like yer doin' much farm work."

"All right, all right. I have an extremely high sensitivity to churches. If I go as far as 3 feet in front of it, I'll start breaking out in hives. It's happened before, I promise."

The boy laughed. "You're making that up."

"Am not!"

"Are, too!"

"Am not!"

"Atticus, are you in my bedroom?"

The muffled voice belonged to Dominic. Atticus didn't even hear him open the door. A few seconds later, the doorknob opened.

"Atticus, what the hell are ya yellin' about?" Atticus was looking forward to introducing his knew friend, but the boy was already running away.

"My God, all these damn negroes, runnin' around like the place is a track. Now, son, what are ya doin' here?"

"My oil lamp burned out. I thought the most light would come from here."

Dominic nodded. "Don't worry. Yer mother will be back soon. She'll change the oil lamp for you."

Perfect, Atticus thought. When mom comes home, that means Jack comes home. And when Jacks comes home, I'll take him and introduce my friend. Atticus smiled. He was going to church.

A/N: Thanks to all the people who commented or favorited my fic. It really does mean a lot to me and gets me going to write more chapters. Still haven't com up with a better title yet. If anyone has suggestions, don't be afraid to type in the comments below or PM me. Thank you all so much for reading. New chapters coming hopefully soon. Have a great day!

Tesla-Nator3


	4. Chapter 4

"Mother, may I take Samson out riding?" Said Atticus.

"Out riding? Where is there to go riding?"

"I dunno. Maybe into town?"

Andrea turned from washing the dishes and raised an eyebrow at her son. Atticus was fearing this. He hated going into town. He liked to think that the only world was him, his family, and his farm. Maycomb county just seemed too crowded. He wondered how people in the cities could live like that.

"What do you wanna-excuse me- want to, go into town for?"

Atticus shrugged. "I don't know. Just for a stroll. I'll bring Jack with me, don't worry."

Andrea sighed. "All right, all right. If you're going to town, you might as well buy me some things."

"Ma, we live on a farm."

"First of all, don't 'ma' me like that. Ma isn't a word. It's a little kid that can't pronounce the word 'mother' properly. And you, with all the books that you read, are perfectly capable of doing so. Second, I didn't mean food. I meant diapers and baby clothes and things like that. Alexandra is growing very fast."

"Aww, do I really have to?"

"If you're going into town without your father or myself, than yes. You should be lucky I'm letting you go out at all."

Atticus sighed. "All right. Is there anywhere specific that you would like me to buy them? Or perhaps a bonnet with a specific design?" Atticus asked sarcastically.

"Well, Miss Rosie's Clothing For Infants has some bonnets with six little flowers in a lovely shade of pink."

"Mother!"

"Oh, all right. Get the ones in yellow, but only if they don't have the pink ones."

Despite Atticus's annoyance, he couldn't help but smile. His mother could get annoying at times, but she always found a way to make him smile.

"All right. I'll get Jack and we'll head out."

"All right. You can take 20 dollars from my purse, that should be more than enough. Just don't forget to be careful. And don't go anywhere you're not suppose to. Promise?"

He regretfully crossed his fingers behind his back. "I promise."

Jack was silent almost the whole 3 mile ride to town. It was when they saw their last glimpse of farmland in the area when he spoke.

"Atticus, stop the horse."

"Is everythin ok?"

"Jus' stop the horse."

Atticus pulled the reigns to the right and lead Samson to the side of the road.

"What's up?"

"Ok, first we take Samson without a buggy-"

"What's wrong with ridin' on a saddle? You know I'm not allowed to take the buggy," said Atticus.

"Then why didn't ya ask mother or father to take ya? And besides, ya hate goin' inta town."

Atticus was prepared for Jack to ask this, and he had been thinking for a way to respond to him while he was out with Andrea.

"Listen, it wasn't my decision to go inta town, it was mother's. She just asked me to get some things for Alexandra, and check somethin' out in the church."

Jack raised and eyebrow. "Church?"

"Jack, we're not goin ta mass. She just wants me to see something."

Thankfully, Jack didn't question the orders. If it was mother's orders, he had to obey them. Because somehow, mother would always find out. Atticus learned that the hard way. Well, he thought, at least I'm not taking him to mass. He squeezed Samson's side with his feet and got going.

Atticus bought all the clothing from Miss Rosie's as quickly as possible. Besides Jack, who had to go into the store by force, he didn't see any other men or boys in the store. There were mothers carrying babies, teenage girls, and some grandmothers, who all seemed to stare at Atticus and his brother. The cashier, a thin, redheaded woman with an Irish accent, even complimented him on his helpfulness to his mother. With all the clothing purchased and the embarrassing shopping trip out of the way, Atticus headed deeper into the heart of Maycomb County. There, he saw the big pure white building with pure white steeples. Atticus's church was covered with stained glass images from the bible, and bronze bells showing through the stained glass on the balcony. Adjacent to it was the exact opposite. The church looked more like a run-down cabin than a church. The gray-white paint was peeling off very fast, revealing old, eroded wood. There was no sign saying the name of the church. In fact, the only sign of the building being a church was a small wooden cross pinned to the door. He had seen many black people crowd into the small church on holidays. Surely, the boy had to be there.

"Jack, stay out here and keep the stuff safe. And make sure Samson doesn't go anywhere."

"What am I suppose to do? Tie him to a tree with an infant's dress?"

"If you can, that would be swell."

Atticus caught a glimpse of Jack rolling his eyes before he ran towards the church. The last thing he heard from Jack was: "don't tell me you're goin into the negro church!"

Careful not to break the door, he pushed his hand slowly and peeked inside. If the outside looked bad, the inside was almost the quality of a tenement. The seats were all made of eroded wood, threatening to break under the peoples' weight. The people were praying, but there were no books in sight. The only book belonged to the preacher who was standing in front of the altar. Then, Atticus noticed a pattern. Every time the preacher would say a line or two of the prayer, the people would repeat the line in song. Atticus tried to make out the voices through the songs, but it was so hard with all the adults' voices overpowering the children's. Finally, four rows in front of the entrance, Atticus recognized the boy. Quietly, he made his way to an empty seat at the edge of the row. When the congregation started silent prayers, Atticus tapped the boy on the back and waved when he turned his head. Instead of waving back, the boy looked anxious. No, anxious was the wrong word. He looked terrified, as if a murderer was after him. The boy pulled himself out of the row and pulled Atticus out of the church. Still holding his wrist, he ran behind the church, an looked around as if he was making sure that no one could see him.

"Are ya outta yer mind?!" He shouted. "What, are ya tryin ta get me killed, or are you just breakin the law for yer own fun, maybe wanna see me in jail?"

"What? I'm not trying to get you in trouble, I swear on it. I just came to say hello. I don't know where you live, so I figured this was the best place to find you," said Atticus.

"Don''tcha know you're not suppose to be here? and why you so indent on bein my friend, anyway?"

"You mean intent?"

"Just answer the question."

"Listen, I know we just met not a while ago, but I need a friend. Desperately. I'm gonna start school next week and no one likes me there. I need at least someone who shares my interests," Atticus tried. "Whatta ya say?" Somehow, Atticus felt comfortable talking in his natural tone around this boy. Somehow, he felt that he could understand him better.

"I'll come by your house another time. I'll remember it, I always pass it on the way ta church. Just promise me ya'll never bust in like tha' again."

"Cross my heart."

"Good. Now, I really have ta go. If I'm gone for more than five minutes, well, thins will not be pretty."

He started to walk away when he realized that he forgot to introduce the boy to Jack. Well, maybe he could tell him about it at home. But he needed a name to call him, didn't he?

"Hey!" He called to the boy, "what's yer name?"

"Tom. Tom Robinson."

"Atticus Finch."

Tom tried to look annoyed that he may risk getting in trouble with the preacher, but as he turned around, he saw him smile. It wasn't a smile that ladies used when making small talk with their peers. It wasn't the kind of smile that his father used while negotiating a price on a runt with a rich farmer. Somehow, Tom's smile felt real, genuine. Even grateful. Atticus or Jack didn't have that smile when they got Christmas money. It was one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen.

Atticus let out a breath. He had a friend now. He wasn't completely desperate to talk to someone when school began.

He turned around, but Jack was already standing there, his eyes blazing mad and his hands crossed against his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm not gonna ask ya again, Atticus. What the hell were you doing with that negro?!" Jack asked as his brother pushed him towards the horse.

The older boy raised his eyebrows. He never heard Jack use that kind of language, even when he was outside the house. It was one of their family's morals. Dominic used to swear a lot until Andrea came into his life, trying to teach him the importance of proper language. It really changed the man, she once told Atticus.

"I was just makin small talk, that's all," he said, pushing himself onto Samson's strong back.

"Small talk? Who do you think you are, Atticus? Some kind of abolitionist?" Jack's voice raised higher with each word.

"Does talking to a person make me an abolitionist?" Atticus said calmly as his brother climbed on behind him.

"It does if you're talkin to a nigger!"

Atticus wanted to slap his brother. He only saw that word come up in Uncle Tom's Cabin, and he knew it was the most derogatory thing you could say. Somehow, hearing it made him angrier than when he read it on a page. He turned to his brother so his face was inches away from Jack's.

"Never say that horrid word ever again. How would you like it if someone insulted you for being white?" Atticus's face remained stone hard, but inside he was surprised to hear how much like his father he sounded, like that day when he lashed out at Atticus for reading all day instead of working. He now saw what ticked him off.

Jack furrowed his eyebrows. "What insult is there to call a white man?" He growled.

"I dunno. A Wigger?"

Jack laughed so hard it nearly sent Samson scampering. A Wigger? Sometimes he wished he had aphasia, or had his mouth sewn shut. No one liked what he had to say. Not even his family.

After Jack stopped laughing, the brothers didn't exchange a word that day. They got home at around six. Dominic wasn't home. It was starting to become usual.

An hour before dinner, Andrea called Atticus from the kitchen. "Atticus, do you want to give me a hand washing the dishes?" Andrea asked in her 'Atticus, help me was the dishes or else' tone. He got up and walked to the wash bucket, finding his mother scrubbing fiercely.

"Do you like the clothing?" He asked, grabbing a rag.

"What?"

"The clothing we bought Alexandra? I left the change on the table, by the way. It wasn't much, but I think-"

"Atticus."

He stopped talking.

"Jack told me what happened today. About you talking to that black boy."

"Well, is it such a bad thing?" He asked defensively. "Why is it so bad to talk to what you call 'different' people. There is no slavery anymore, right? So why do we keep treating blacks like they're nothing more than the dirt under our shoes?"

Andrea didn't say anymore for a while. She continued her chore, washing less forcefully this time. Finally, in a voice that was almost a whisper, she spoke.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing. Atticus, please understand that you should be thankful that you are white. These people don't have anything going for them. If I could make things better for them, I would. But, it's gonna take some time before anything big happens. You can count on that."

"But mother, they want the discrimination to stop now, I can see it in their faces."

"I know. Maybe when you are older, you can fight for these people. But for now, all you can do is stay out of the way. It's safer like that. You'll stay out of trouble."

He wanted to shout. How could he just stay put and do nothing? If white people-"Wiggers"- were being discriminated against, would she also say to sit and do nothing?

"Atticus, I'm not very involved in this controversy. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

"It has been helpful," he lied.

"All right. Now, I think it's best that you go to sleep." She kissed him on the forehead. "Good night, Wigger."

"Jack told you?"

"Yes. And I think that was very clever of you. The first derogatory term for a white man. You'll make history."

Atticus laughed. "It was a joke. I don't know what I was thinking."

"All right. Now, I really want you to go to bed. You and Jack start school tomorrow."

School! Atticus completely forgot about school. Once upon a time, it had looked so big and exciting. Six hours of straight learning? What could be better than that? But, as Atticus grew up, he realized that no one, at least not his fellow classmates, liked what he had to say. He should be used to it, Jack did it all the time, but at least he was still his brother. With a friend, you had to build up a friendship over a very long time span, a year at least. And if you flaw or slip up along the way, your friendship would be in jeopardy. It was all just unfair judgement. He shouldn't be so sad, at least he was actually going to school. He had no idea if Tom or any of his family ever went. He should ask him some day. If Tom even wanted to see his face again.

Dominic came home a few minutes later, while Atticus was eating dinner. He walked slowly to Andrea, as if he was trying to keep himself from falling over.

"Hi, Dom," she said to him.

"Hey, love. I'm sorry I was late coming back. I promise I'll come back earlier next time." He tried to kiss her on the cheek, but she pulled away.

"Let me smell your breath," she said.

Slowly, Dominic opened his mouth, and Andrea took a small sniff.

"Soap?"

"Well, I wouldn't want you to deal with my bad breath the whole night."

Andrea raised an eyebrow.

"All right, all right. I lost a bet. Long story. But it's no big deal, I promise."

"All right. You should go get ready for bed. I'll meet you there in a few minutes." She kissed him on the cheek and he walked-troded, really- across the hall to the bedroom.

"What was that about?" Asked Atticus.

Andrea sighed. "For a second I thought... Well, it's nothing. Finish your dinner, Atticus. I'm going to sleep. You should, too."

A/N: Oh my God. I used the N word in a story.

Guys, I'm so sorry I wrote that, but I really wanted to get the word "Wigger" in there somehow. I promise I won't use that word anymore or not often in this fic. I promise.

On another note, I think I found a better title to this fic. I'm thinking of calling it "Wiggers," but I'm not sure. Tell me what you think or give another suggestion in the comments please. Also, I'm just telling you all not to expect another chapter before school gets out. I'll update again sometime before my camp starts, but if I don't update soon, don't be surprised. Thanks to allfor reading. Have a great day!

Tesla-Nator3


	6. Chapter 6

Andrea was cooking lunch for herself and Dominic when Atticus came back from school, barging into the house holding a ripped copy of Les Misérables in his hand.

"Oh, Atticus, what happened?" She asked with alarm. The son was expecting this. Normally, he would tell her that nothing was wrong and then go up to his room to be with himself, but this was different. He needed to let his feelings out.

"Ma, I don't wanna go back there!" He shouted. Andrea didn't say anything. She didn't even comment on Atticus saying 'ma'.

He dropped his book bag and Les Misérables and kicked them to the corner.

"Son, please just tell me what happened. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."

Atticus wanted to scream at her to stop talking; she said that all the time. But he also knew that she was right. If there was anyone in his family that would at least pretend to listen, it was Andrea.

"Well, during my English class, they wanted every kid to come up and introduce themselves and explain what they like to do. I went up and said I like to read. My teacher, Mr. Andrews was impressed and asked me what my favorite book was and I said Les Misérables. And then he said to me: well, perhaps you would like to tell everyone what goes on in the book. And, I guess I got a little carried away.

Everyone was makin' fun of me for reading Les Misérables. They said that I was just tryin' to look like a smart ass in front of the teacher so he would like me better. A smart ass and a teacher's pet. Smart Ass Atticus is what they call me now."

Atticus felt tears making their way out of his tear ducts. He didn't know from what, it wasn't like he was so sad he needed to cry. He guessed that it was just from the exhaustion of the day. Maybe something was taking its tole on Atticus, but he didn't know what. He was just glad Dominic wasn't home. If he was, he would never lat him cry like that Andrea allowed him to let it all out.

She took whatever was cooking off of the stove and motioned him to come over and she hugged him like they would do when Atticus was a young boy. After Atticus calmed down a little, she let him go.

"Don't worry, Atticus. There are mean people in life, always. You just have to show them that you are not weak, and you will not give in to these childish games of theirs. Take the word "smart ass" as a compliment. At least they are not calling you dumb."

He smiled at that.

"I guess you're right. I just need to ignore them, and I won't be so sad." He didn't believe it so much, he only said it to make his mother happy. However, he found that just saying it made it that much more true.

"Exactly," Andrea said. "And don't worry. I can get another copy of Fantine , if you would like."

"No need. Im almost halfway through, anyway."

"Halfway through? It's only been a week and a half!"

Atticus caught his mistake too late.

"Atticus, are you reading at night?"

He looked down, not saying a word. How could he say 'no' and lie to her, after she helped him? It seemed unfair.

"I understand you are mad at me," he started.

"I'm not mad at you. I want you to realize that sleep is more important than finishing a book. My father, grandpa Walt, had the same problem. Once, he read through an entire night and passed out at the textile factory the next day. Nearly fell on a sewing needle.

"Don't think I'm mad at you, Atticus. I'm not. I just want you to try and stop this habit. And, please try not to read in class."

"I didn't read in class."

"I meant for future reference. I have a feeling it's going to happen some time in your life."

Atticus rolled his eyes. "Well, now that you tell me, I'm sure it's not gonna happen."

"Good."

Andrea went back to cooking lunch when a question came to Atticus's mind."

"Mother, where has father been? He's been going out a lot, hasn't he?"

"Well, men will be men, Atticus. As long as he is not doing anything destructive, it's ok with me."

She went back to cooking lunch, putting a little more force into it, as if she was taking out all her anger into it.

"I'm going to my room. I have some homework to do," Atticus lied.

He took his book bag and his mangled copy of Fantine and headed to Jack's room, where he found the little boy playing with a small wooden figurine of an archer from Robin Hood. He got home a little earlier than him since he was in the elementary school.

"Jack, we need to talk," he started.

"Nice to see ya too, Atticus. How was your day?" He said sarcastically.

"I'm serious. It's about father."

Jack sighed, finally turning his attention off of the little figurine.

"I think he may be drinking. Before you say anything, hear me out. Think about it, he's been goin out a lot, his breath always smells like soap, probably from brushing it to get rid of the alcohol stench," exclaimed Atticus.

"I don't think dad's drinkin. You're kind of an idiot for thinkin that," Jack said calmly.

Wow, Atticus thought. Not only is he insulting black people, but he is also insulting me. What will happen to this boy in the future?

Atticus didn't expect to get so mad at Jack, but he was furious. Both his mother and his father had a philosophy that insulting family members was not an option. Even though it was a small word, it was a strong one in terms of family.

"What the hell is wrong with ya?! Callin me stupid like that?" Atticus shouted.

Normally, Jack would come to his senses at this point. He would try to hold back his tears and apologize to his brother. And it wasn't a "all-right-can-we-just-get-this-over-with" apology. It was genuine, as if he had ran away and he was asking for his parents to take him back in. But this time was different Jack didn't answer. He just looked down at his stupid little figurine and looked like he had no care in the world.

Atticus stormed out of Jack's room, and when he got to his own, slammed the door behind him. He wished Tom was there. He needed to talk to someone, desperately. He didn't even want to read the rest of Fantine; he had too much of a headache. Instead, in his school clothes, he laid down on his bed and sobbed into his pillow like a little girl. At first, he was embarrassed, even though no one was watching him. But at the time, time felt much slower, as if the entire world was covered in a blob of maple syrup. And suddenly, all the anger and the frustration and the aggravation that plagues him for the past week and a half slipped out, escaping from his year ducts and eventually, his head.

After how much time, Atticus didn't know, but eventually, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Someone had to expose his father eventually, at least approach him. And if no one was going to help him, Atticus was going alone. Except this time, he felt better going solo.

A/N: Look at that, I fit in another chapter before the end of school! Sorry this one seems a little rushed. I promise when I have more time I'll make the next one better. Thank you all so much for reading. Have a great day!

Tesla-Nator3


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